


Where The Wildlings Are

by FrozenHearts



Series: BBC Merlin Crossovers [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Merlin (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Attempted Kidnapping, Bandits & Outlaws, Canon Compliant, Diplomacy, Gags, Game of Thrones Season 1, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Non-Consensual Touching, Rescue, Royalty, Strangers to Lovers, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-07 15:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19088059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenHearts/pseuds/FrozenHearts
Summary: Lancelot and Percival come across a man in need of help in the woods





	Where The Wildlings Are

**Author's Note:**

> 2nd crossover I've had in mind for a while

Bran knew it was stupid to go into the woods. His stupid legs didn't work anymore and hus father sent his sisters away and he had no idea what Jon was doing but Bran knew he wouldn't approve of the trek through the woods with his useless legs attatched stupidly to his horse at risk of being attacked. 

He had Hodor with him, as he usually did, but Hodor wasn't always in the right headspace when Bran needed him to be. Like right now, as he stood uselessly, wringing his hands as Bran was cut from the stirrups and had a blade to his throat.

"Hodor!" Bran strained against the blade, careful not to let the sharp edge cut into his skin. "Hodor! Get help! Help!"

Hodor was a pure soul. Bran trusted him with his life and even if it took him longer than others to think things through, Hodor was a good man. The best man he knew.

"The idiot can't protect you, boy," the bandit's breath was hot on his ear and Bran struggled not to gag, "House Stark's youngest will fetch quite the penny with his head, eh?"

Bran rolled his eyes- everyone was so unoriginal with their threats. There were plenty of people who wanted the Starks dead, and of course these bandits were the same. 

"You want to scare me-" Bran grunted, uselessly clawing at the man's hand, "you'll know-"

"You're legs are useless, boy," the bandit hissed, "we all know-"

"That your head will be on a pike if you keep threatening my brother."

Bran couldn't help the grin breaking out on his face as none other than Robb rode in on his white steed, Hodor following close behind. His cloak was flowing behind him as he rode, hooves kicking up dirt as the animal skittered to a stop. A whinny, and Robb planted his feet on the ground, spraying the earth haphazardly in his rush to draw his sword. 

"Ahhh, lookit the handsome prince, coming in on his noble steed!" the bandit laughed hoarsely, shaking Bran harshly, "How nice!"

"Bran, it's going to be alright," Robb leveled his gaze with Bran, "I promise."

Bran grit his teeth, wincing as the blade accidentally slicing into his skin, feeling a slick of warmth sliding down his neck. He could see Robb's sharp glare as he turned his head towards the bandit. 

"Let my brother go," Robb's voice was level, "and your sentence won't be as harsh."

 Bran groaned as the bandit chuckled; he sounded like a cross between a bleating goat and the gurgle of a slit throat as he said, "Whaddya halfta offer?"

A moment of silence. Bran could see the gears turning in his head, the way Robb's eyes flit between Hodor and Bran.

"My family is very wealthy," Bran could tell Robb was uncomfortable with the notion, "Is it compensation you wish for?"

"Mayhap, kind sir," the bandit gave Bran a sly wink, as if they were buddies, as if he was being coy about something, as if he wasn't holding the son of the most powerful lord hostage. No one spoke for a minute and Robb turned to Hodor, handing him the reins to both his and Bran's horses. 

"And how much is it you desire, good sir?" Robb took a step forward, making a sweeping gesture with his arm. It was a show- the way he canted his hip forward, showing off his sword still in its scabbard.

Bran knew a dare when he saw one. 

"Coin can get us far, yes," the bandit exchanged glances with his men, "but there may be something else."

Rob clenched his jaw, the crack of his knuckles echoing through the clearing as he gripped the hilt of his sword.

"And what may that be?" Robb asked coldly. 

And Bran suddenly found himself able to breathe steadily, the dagger falling away to sit idly in the bandit's hand. Chest heaving, Bran narrowed his eyes at Robb.

"It's alright, Bran," Robb reiterated, then to Hodor, "Hodor, please take my brother to safety."

"Hodor," Hodor bowed his head, and Bran found he didn't know what to do. As a brother, Bran knew Robb was only doing what he had to to protect him. He was ten, he couldn't do anything and especially not with his damn useless legs. But the bandit was amicable, even going so far as to ruffle his hair as Hodor cautiously bent down and helped Bran onto his back, holding on tightly to his legs while he wrapped his arms around his neck. 

He could feel Hodor trembling under his hold. 

"Thank you," Robb bowed his head as Hodor carried Bran over to the horses. While Robb stood steadfast, Bran could see how his face had paled, how his eyes despite their confidrnt gleam held a note of worry underneath. 

"Diplomatic of me, huh?" the bandit waved his knife around, "Why don't you walk your pretty self over here?"

From the corner of his eye, Bran saw Robb stiffen. He tightened his grip on Hodor as they passed his brother.

"I'm quite alright," Robb said.

The bandit sneered, chuckling lowly as he shook his head, "We've been civil so far, but maybe I wanna see the goods up close?"

Before anyone could ask what he meant, two men darted out from the edges of the clearing; Bran heard Hodor panicking, ducking from an oncoming sword that missed him by mere inches. He could hear the bandits laughter as they neared his brother, the horses frightened whinnies as they were upset.

He could hear Robb's growls of "Hey!" and "Get your hands off me-'" before Hodor threw the horses reins down and tightened his grip on Bran- if he was able to feel it, he was sure the fingers digging into his skin would have been tight enough to bruise. 

The bandits nasty laughter echoed through the forest as Bran and Hodor darted into the trees. 

\-------

Lancelot and Percival had got on like a house on fire. Since foraging in the woods and camping under the stars almost every night, it was the first time Lancelot was able to really take a step back and think about what he did. 

Well, more importantly what he didn't do. The Griffon.... that was all Merlin. Anything anyone ever did was all Merlin in hindsight, really, but was there any credit where credit was due? No, just a "stop being such a girl Merlin we have work to do!" and a servant who looked exhausted ninetey-nine perfent of the time. 

Lancelot figured he would look near death too if he was constantly hiding who was in the very heart of fhe place that would so quickly see him dead.

"Alright there, Lance?" Percival's voice broke through his thoughts, the giant of a man nudging his arm gently.

"Just thinking about Merlin," Lancelot said, "You remember what I told you of him."

Percival hummed, reaching around him and grabbing a stick; the fire they made to cook dinner was dying, a few embers struggling to light up the wood despite how little they were. Wisps of black moke rose from the pit in thin streams, dissipating almost instantly. 

"You know, I may not know who Merlin is but he sounds like a good man," Percival conceded, "if anything he's forgiven you a thousand times over."

"That's the thing, Percival, my friend," Lancelot ran a hand through his hair, "Merlin is too good. I can't fo back knowing I've basically taken his credit-"

Listen mate," Percival cut him, "Merlin knew the consequences when he came to Camelot and I'm sure he's being as careful as he can in his situation. You need to move on from it."

Lancelot knew Percival was correct. Merlin was a grown man and could make his own judgements, forgive who he liked, trust who he wanted, and so on and so forth. But Merlin trusted a little too easily, a little too quickly and Lancelot knew that's why he had to leave.

He didn't know if he could trust himself with Merlin's secret the longer Arthur believed Lancelot was the one who defeated the Griffon. 

It was hard to even to wrap his head around the fact that Percival- a complete stranger to Merlin, someone Merlin wasn't even aware existed- knew of Merlin's magical prowess.

It unnerved Lancelot somewhat that he went behind Merlin's back but Percival had been nothing but kind as they trekked through these woods. He could tell Merlin would like Percival should they ever meet.

"How-" Lancelot began, only to jump as a yell blew through the trees, a child, if he could guess correctly, screaming, "Hodor! Help! Help us!"

Percival was already on his feet, sword drawn at the ready as the sound of stomping feet grew nearer to their camp. Branches snapped underfoot, echoing in the woods as the yelling boy drew closer, and Percival held a hand out towards Lancelot.

"Wait," he said, "a child can't do much harm, just wait."

"But what if the child has magical abilities? It could be a trap," Lancelot pointed out. 

Percival shook his head, "He sounds too frantic. Just... let's see what he needs-"

"Hodor! Stop!" the boy yelled, "Hodor!"

Lancelot was quick on his feet, shoving Percival back just as a large disoriented man burst into their camp, a boy clingjng desperately to his back as he stumbled over himself to stop. 

"Hodor!" the boy was out of breath, "Are you alright?"

They watched as the man named Hodor gave the boy's hand a reassuring pat, hoisting him up higher on his back. Hodor himself was a big man, tall like Percival albeit a bit pudgy round the middle. 

Percival was the first to approach, "Are you alright?"

Hodor shook his head frantically, eyes wide with fear but it was the boy who spoke, tongue flapping a mile a minute.

"IwasinthewoodawithHodorandabandittriedto-"

Percival held up a hand, exchanging a nervous look with Lancelot. Bandits, as they were, were always bad news.

The boy took a deep breath, shaking his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes as he held onto Hodor, "I'm Bran of House Stark, my brother is in trouble-"

Apparently Percival was as much of a bleeding heart as Merlin, the man taking up his sword before the boy even finished. Quiet as ever, Percival stormed off from the camp, leaving Lancelot and Bran to watch.

"Wait-" Bran called.

"We best follow, Sir Bran," Lancelot bowed his head, "Percival will help. He's a good man. Strong."

Pursing his lips, Bran nodded, Lancelot beckoning Hodor into the camp. He helped the man sit, moving to help Bran down from his shoulders. 

"I'm going to put you on your feet, is that alright?" Lancelot asked.

"I... I can't," Bran blushed, still allowing Lancelot to grab him from the armpits ans lift. 

Lancelot raised an eyebrow, "I'm sorry?"

"My legs don't work," Bran was reluctant to say, "Fell out a window two months ago, haven't been able to walk since."

Oh. Thus Hodor carrying him; Lancelot just assumed it was to get hus charge away faster because he couldn't run as fast.

He just couldn't run. Or walk. At all. Lancelot let out a breath, carefully sitting Bran down next to Hodor in front of the now dead campfire. 

"I'll stay here with you, Sir Bran," Lancelot sat across from the duo, "It'll be better for you to have some protection of your own."

"But my brother!" was Bran's cry.

"Will come back," Lancelot assured him, "Percival is, well, built like a house. He'll get your brother back."

Bran didn't say anything, leaning into Hodor's side. Lancelot hoped Percival got to the poor man in time. 

\--------

It wasn't hard for Percival to find Bran of House Stark's brother- all he had to do was follow the whinnies of horses and the chattering slimy laughter and he was there. In a clearing of the woods, surrounded by damp vegetation and dead leaves and possibly serkets (Percival wasn't sure, he never ventured into the woods much), he found a group of three, possibly four bandits, all riled up and raring to go. Their hair was wild, their clothes ripped and one of them looked like they had some sort of nasty disease.

"Lookit 'im with 'is fancy clothes!" one of them laughed, and Percival heard the tell-tale sound of cloth ripping loudly, "Be a shame to lose them!"

"You'll lose your hand if you do that agai-"

The threat was cut off as Percival watched them shove something in the man's mouth, his head thrashing as they pulled the gag tight. Laughing, the bandits resumed exploring his pockets, his shoes- one gigfled furiously as they took him by the jaw, turning his head to the side.

Percival was met with a pair of blue eyes, filled with panic as he struggled against the bandits hold. Crouching down, Percival held a finger to his lips, tapping the handle of his sword exactly twice.

Thankfully, the man got the message, making an indignant sound in response; brown curls were yanked roughly back, exposing a pale throat as his cloak was pulled away and his shirt ripped further. 

"A royal can fetch a good price, yeah?" one of the bandits asked, "We's could get lotsa food!"

Another bandit guffawed, "Looks too pretty to be wasted on food! Why not sell 'im to a brothel! I mean, lookit those lips! Perfect for- OW!"

Percival grinned as he watched the man successfully kick the bandit away, far enough and hard enough that the man looked winded, rolling about in the leaves. The one at his head didn't loosen his grip, though, and a pained groan echoed as they pulled tighter. 

"You'll get far worse than a brothel if you try that again, sweetheart," the bandit hissed, thr man trying and failing to lean away from them as they most likely smelled rancid, "Maybe we oughta test ya out right here? Hmmm?"

Percival didn't wait any longer, dragging his sword out of its sheath with a loud clang, yelling an old battle cry- the bandits froze, and Percival couldn't believe his luck.

The fight was a quick one, quick flicks with his blade and the bandits were down one by one. His muscles ached as he moved, warm blood spurting onto his arms, his chest, his face and when he felled the third menace, Percival took a moment to calm himself, chest heaving as he looked around. 

There was a fourth. He knew there was a fourth and the man, Bran's brother, he had to be here somewhere.

"Lookit! They sent you a knight in shining armor!" a loud cackle made Percival spin on his heel, sword at the ready until he faltered- the fourth bandit had his captive flush against him, a slim sliver dagger at his throat.

"Your men are dead," Percival pointed out between deep breaths, "You're on your own."

"I've got this pretty thing to keep me company," the bandit pressed his cheek against the man's face, Percival watching him tremble as the bandit deigned to run a slimy tongue across his cheek, "Tastes good too, I might take him with me. Rent him out- hey, you want a try?"

Percival's blood boiled, disgust contorting his face as he took a step closer, "If it's money you want you could go to Camelot. Get honest work, not stealing little brothers from their families-"

"My little brother was stolen from me," the bandit cut him off, holding the dagger until it drew a thin line of red along the man's neck, "I think it only fair I steal this man from his."

Well, shit. Percival was hoping it wouldn't be personal, but of course it had to be. Every soul in Camelot seemed to have a bleeding heart one way or another and while this man committed atrocities in the name of family, it seemed he was no different. He kept his sword raised, tightening his grip on the hilt as he dared yet again to move. 

"That little boy is unable to use his legs," Percival pointed out, "You would deprive him of those who care? Want to help him live  best life?"

The bandit didn't say anything, making a loud squawk as an arrowhead suddenly burst through his skull. Barely there, Percival lunfed forward to catch the captive as he fell forward, shoving the dead man away before it could crush him. The man was tense as Percival caught him, although he made no move to kick or punch aa Percival took the brunt of the fall. 

"I have you," Percival panted in the man's ear, "It's alright, I have you."

He could feel the muscle as the man squirmed in his arms, the grind of fingers holding on desperately to his arms, anchoring him as he tried to catch his breath. Percival breathed in deeply, daring to bury his nose in the man's honey brown curls. 

From the corner of his eye, Percival could see a flash of red and blue but soon left it be when he heard Lancelot call his name, turning his head to see him and young Bran on Hodor's shoulders enter the clearing. 

\---------

It was a month until the man crossed Percival's mind, sitting at the Round Table with the newly crowned King Arthur and his knights. Lancelot sat to Arthur's left, across from Percival and when Merlin announced the names, sending him an amused look from across the room. 

Gwaine was to Percival's right, nudging him gently, "Why d' you look so surprised? Just a visitor, Percy!"

It was true- Camelot had had many a nobleman and princess visiting since Arthur's coronation, so seeing new faces every other week was quite normal. Merlin usually filled in the blanks if the knights had to talk to anyone of importance, so usually, Percival wasn't bothered at all.

This name, however.... this name struck a chord. One quick glance at Lancelot and Percival knew the man knew who he thought of as well. 

"Just... Did you say Lord Stark was visiting?" Percival cocked his head. Arthur shrugged, raising an eyebrow at Merlin as if to say "This is what happens when peasants join the ranks, no one ever listens."

"Indeed, Ser Percival," Arthur said, "That won't be a problem, will it?"

Percival frowned, quick to shake his head, "No, Sire. No problem at all."

The meeting was soon adjourned, and Percival walked briskly from the room. His face was burning and only Lancelot had any inkling as to why. Well, maybe Merlin, but Merlin seemed to know everything about everything and everyone and Percival thought if Merlin knew that'd be okay.

Hopefully. One couldn't tell fully with Merlin.

So lost in his thoughts as he strode down the corridor, Percival didn't realize a dog had barked, echoing along with the pitter-patter of strong paws against a stone floor. He didn't notice the yell for "Grey Wind! Heel!" and he didn't realize the dog had barreled right into his shins until he found a faceful of fur burrowing into him and yapping happily in his ear. Percival froze, allowing the dog to aniff him untik the animal jumped off his chest. 

Turning his head to the left, he could see a pair of feet stride confidently into his field of vision, a pair of black leather boots slightly scuffed from travel looking otherwise pristine. 

"Grey Wind is still in training," an accented voice rang in his ears, then a hand was in his face, "Are you alright, friend?"

The grip of said hand was strong as Percival took it, the man grunting as he hauled Percival to his feet surprisingly well. 

"Quite alright, tha.....nk you...?" Percival trailed, slack-jawed at the sight before him.

It was him. The man in the woods, there was no doubt about it. His skin was still as pale, his eyes just as blue (although Percival could swear they might be hazel now that he was taking the time to look properly) and his curls were just as unruly as they had been a month ago. 

For a minute, the world stood still as Percival gaped at the man, who gave him a smile and a nod of his head. 

"I know you!" Percival blurted suddenly, the kind smile faltering before giving way to concern. Percival bit his lip, hunching his shoulders slightly, "What I mean to say is, I don't know you, but I might? A month ago there were bandits, y'see, and-"

The man's soft lilt made Percival want to cry, realization flooding those absolutely gorgeous eyes as he said softly, almost a whisper, "It's you."

"Exuse me?"

"A month as you said," the man licked his lips, "When my little brother was caught by bandits and I had him run into the woods for help. It was you, you saved me."

Percival beamed, nodding vigorously, "Y-yes! It was me- and well, my friend Lancelot, but I was there, yes."

The man laughed, "I told my father what had happened- he said I was stupid for getting caught. My mother said-"

Percival felt his heart race at the smattering of pink on the man's cheeks.

"Well, nevermind what my mother said," the mam chuckled, "I understand if it's unbecoming of someone of my station, but may we reconnect over drinks?"

Percival beamed, averting his gaze as he said "I would like that very much....?

"Oh, how clumsy of me," the man chuckled, bowing his head, "Robb Stark of Winterfell."

Oh.... oh even his name was nice, and Percival took a minute to listen to it in his head. Robb Stark. Of Winterfell, wherever that was. Robb Stark of Winterfell. 

"And may I know the name of the man who so valiantly came to my aide that day?" 

Percival returned the man's smile, rolling his shoulder and reveling in the unhindered impression in the man's eye. 

"Oi!" Gwaine's grufd bark echoed in the corridor, "Percy, mate! Sparring is in an hour-"

"Yes! Yes!" Percival waved Gwaine away, although the man was not going to actually go anywhere; any piece of possible gossip and Gwaine was on it like a fly in amber. "I'll be there in a moment, Gwaine!"

"And not introduce me to your tantalizing friend here?" Gwaine teased, sending Robb a wink that made Percival want Merlin to magic him away, throw him into the sky- anything but this, anywhere but here and any time but now. 

"Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell," Robb replied blankly. "And you are?"

"Ser Gwaine, milord," Gwaine surprisingly offered a slight bow of the head, "Apologies, I meant no offense, it's just fun ribbing my friend here, yeah?"

More footsteps sounded and it made Percival wonder if everyone in this bloody citadel had eyes and ears everywhere; Arthur strode up, clapping Gwaine on the shoulder.

"I suggest we leave Percival and our guest be, Gwaine" Arthur suggested, "Percival can show him round by himself, I'm sure."

Percival didn't miss the quick wink Arthur senr him as he dragged a moaning and groaning Gwaine off to the courtyard.

Sly bastard, that Arthur.

Robb cleared his throat, "You needn't call me by my title if it makes you uncomfortable."

Percival cocked his head, "Are you sure, ser?"

Robb beamed that brilliant smile once more as he said, "Just Robb would be nice. I believe we can move past the formalities.... Percival."

"Please," Percival offered his arm, surprised when Robb looped gis hand in the crook of his elbow, "allow me to show you what Camelot has to offer."


End file.
